


How to Survive Playing For the American Idol: Five Simple Rules to Follow For a Good Time

by stickmarionette



Category: American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician), Kris Allen Band
Genre: Band Fic, Gen, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-22
Updated: 2010-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-10 17:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickmarionette/pseuds/stickmarionette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>" - wait, hold still," Kris says, then he's pressing himself up against Andrew, one hand braced on his shoulder.</i>  The Kris Allen band: behind the music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Survive Playing For the American Idol: Five Simple Rules to Follow For a Good Time

  
**rule one: there are no boundaries**   


  
" - wait, hold still," Kris says, then he's pressing himself up against Andrew, one hand braced on his shoulder. He gets up on his toes, close enough that his pendant catches on one of Andrew's shirt buttons. Enough for Andrew to see the break in the skin on his bottom lip where he'd been worrying at it with his teeth on and off all day.

(At one point Andrew had to tell himself to stop staring, thereby hitting a whole new low in this 'inexplicable yet persistent fascination with the freaking American Idol' fiasco.)

His brain's too busy trying to decide what the social expectations here are - workplace sexual harassment joke is winning because all the other possibilities are too ridiculous - when Kris leans up and in a little further and swipes his baseball cap.

"Hey, uncalled for!"

Kris settles the cap on his own head carelessly and smiles up at Andrew. It's the kind of expression that says 'forgive me, for I am small and amusing'.

Tempting, but no.

"I was wearing that for a reason," Andrew mutters darkly, refusing to let himself smile back.

He doesn't make any move to reclaim the cap, though. Real indignation takes work. Plus, Kris looks like the point on an axis where ridiculous and adorable would meet, if that point were a person in a baseball cap. Andrew's charmed despite himself, his grooming issues and his irritation at said grooming issues.

"Your hair looks okay to me. Just needs...hang on," Kris says, and clamps down with the hand still on Andrew's shoulder. "Bend down a bit."

Andrew's complying before he even thinks about it, which is alarming on a number of levels. He's giving serious thought to this. Later. Perhaps when Kris is done stroking his fingers through his hair.

"Mmm, soft. There, that looks fine, I don't know what you're worried about."

Impromptu hands-on inspection complete, Kris's arms finally come to rest at his sides and he takes a small step back.

Andrew shakes his head. "I don't know how you always get away with that."

"Wanna know a secret?" Kris tilts his head, grin all mysterious and sly. "Sometimes, I don't either."

  


  
**rule two: face the madness head on**   


  
Ryland raises his eyebrows at one particularly impressive scream. "Is it just me or are those shrieks actually terrifying?"

Chris might agree in different circumstances, but right now he's failing to see the downside of a big, enthusiastic crowd out there, waiting for them to perform. Even if this audience seems to communicate best in the whistle register.

"Be nice, they're fans. They just – "

"Want Kris's blood? That's what it sounds like," Andrew says.

Kris wrinkles his nose. "I don't think it's my blood they're after? At least, I hope not."

"You do have some kinky fans."

Kris mimes hitting Cale over the head with one of Ryland's drumsticks. "Told you to stop checking your twitter replies. Scarred for life, man."

He's not going to ask, he's not going to ask…he's definitely going to ask when they get bored on the bus. And then he'll be scarred too, but at least he won't be curious any more.

Fortunately, Lizzie picks that moment to stick her head into the room. "We're up in five, so work out your fear issues with teenaged girls now if you have any."

They all laugh, but she's barely gone when Ryland realizes.

"Wait, how did she know – "

"Lizzie knows _everything_," Cale says, all scare-whisper and wide eyes.

Kris nods solemnly. "It's true. That's how she keeps me in line."

Whatever Ryland is about to say in reply is cut off by another ripple of sound from outside, the crowd singing along with whatever song they're pumping through the sound system.

"Ohh, loud."

Chris shrugs. "I like it. It's nice that people care."

This is as big a stage as any of them have ever had, after all.

Kris smiles big. "I know, right?"

  


  
**rule three: if you're going to cheat on him with other bands, have a family member handy as your replacement**   


  
They're backstage, just chilling and waiting to do their second song for the New Year's Eve thing. (Well, everybody else is chilling. Kris is busy messing up his hair.) With a jolt, Ryland realizes that this is the last time he'll see these guys for a good while. Equally surprising is the thought of how much he's going to miss it.

"Guys? You're going to be good to my baby brother, right? No hazing allowed."

Chris claps him on the back, hard enough to knock him forward half a step. "You know we will. Ooh, does he have embarrassing stories about you?"

"If you can get him to talk. Good luck with that."

"Well, we can barely get you to stop talking, so..." Andrew trails off meaningfully with a fake-casual shrug.

Ryland mimes throwing a drumstick at him. "Shut up, jerk. And you wonder why I'm leaving you for another band."

"Because you're a fickle bastard?" Cale offers, finally looking up from where he'd been fiddling with his guitar. "_If I crawl on my knees, would you come back to meeeeeeeeee...._"

He does it with the full on Arms of Entreaty and pained expression. Ryland mentally gives him an A for effort, but only if he was auditioning for a boy band.

"If Cale's going to serenade me like that…you know I can't say no."

Kris shuffles closer so he can bump fists with Cale. "Yes! See, it's that rugged, dirty, unshaved charm. Never fails. They can't get enough."

Ryland raises his eyebrows. "You know I'll be back for more," he says in his best deadpan.

There's a beat of absolute silence, then the sound of five guys cracking up at high volume.

(Ryland's always believed that laughing at each other's silly jokes is the first sign of a group that's going to get along fine. They've certainly proven that, and then some.)

Kris eventually sobers up with a lopsided grin aimed straight at Ryland. "Have a good trip, man."

"I'll send you guys a postcard. Promise."

  


  
**rule four: don't let it change you**   


  
Kris valiantly keeps the giggles at bay until they get backstage. Then he all but falls in Cale's general direction. Which - it's a good thing Cale's used to it, because he's still a little dazed from the adrenaline rush of the show, and he almost doesn't reach out to prop Kris up in time.

"Hey. You okay?"

Security had told them about not having time to set up barricades half an hour before they had to go on, the guy in charge tripping over himself to apologize while Kris touched his arm and grinned at him and repeatedly said he didn't care.

_"Ten bucks says you get groped."_

"I know what I'm getting into. Remember?"

Cale did remember, and that was why he made stupid bets at the time instead of objecting.

They were probably both right, in the end. Even from where Cale was standing, he saw a lot of physical contact that he probably wouldn't have been comfortable with, but that's not how Kris thinks about it.

Kris sways a little as he braces his hands on Cale's shoulders, leaning up to whisper - not particularly quietly - into his ear.

"Those girls were intense! I think I've got bruises in weird places," he says, giggling still, and presses closer until he's burying his face in Cale's neck, dry lips almost brushing the rise of a collarbone.

They're both sweaty as hell, and Kris's body against his from thigh to hip to chest isn't helping, but he's not going to complain.

Across the room, Andrew looks like he's 5 seconds from making any number of snarky comments, most of which would probably make Kris roll his eyes, smile and ask him if he's jealous.

(Coming from Kris, that's a joke, meant to deflect embarrassment from Cale. He doesn't mean it, because even after all this, the handsy girls and staring guys somehow don't translate to an awareness of just how far he can push.)

There's really nothing unusual about this. Not when his hand sneaks under the back of Kris's t-shirt, pressing against warm skin, and not when Kris arches into the contact as Cale strokes down his spine. Cale's – not used to it, a part of him never gets used to this, but he can almost time it now, the precise moment when Kris's eyes flutter closed, his body going boneless and pliant. They've been here a hundred times before.

(It's just that most of those times they hadn't just entertained a big, crazy crowd in Singapore, who sang along to all of Kris's songs.)

"Don't fall asleep."

"I'm not. Too buzzed."

"You say that now, we all know what you're like when you come down," Cale says, mildly scolding, and brushes a few sweaty strands of hair off Kris's forehead. "Out like a light, and then we get mistaken for kidnappers when we have to drag you around."

"Shut up, that's never happened."

"Except that one time."

Over Drew's startled laugh, Kris mumbles into Cale's shirt. "We don't talk about that."

"We'll totally talk about that after this guy drops," Cale says in an exaggerated whisper, pointing down with the hand not holding Kris upright.

Kris digs his fingers into Cale's skin in retaliation, but he's too far gone for it to hurt beyond the first moment, and Cale's so used to that he doesn't even wince.

They are who they are, no matter what the surroundings. That's the best part of this whole thing.

  


  
**rule five: haters gonna hate**   


  
Kris had never been called pretty before he went on Idol. The first time, maybe it threw him for a minute or two, but he got over it fast. Compliments are nice, however people say them. Then there's the other side of it, the dark side of fame he might call it, if he was jaded and kind of lame. (He isn't. Yet.) It involves being called some new and inventive names, and the public now having free rein to criticise everything from the quantity and quality of his facial hair to the length of time he babbles on between songs during a concert.

That stuff is usually not too bad to deal with – people are free to say what they want and he's free to do what he wants. But when it's about the music, the performances, that's a different problem. More difficult to shrug off, maybe.

Unless he's got back up.

" – ooh, I bet I have the best one," Cale says, squinting at his laptop screen.

Kris has to resist the temptation to read over his shoulder. He settles for perching himself on the arm of the couch beside Cale and taking a bite of his toast instead.

"Does it involve the word virginal?"

Chris stops dead, coffee half way to his mouth. "Wait, what?"

Cale doesn't even blink twice. "Not this time. But listen - the guy said that your 'odd movements on stage' distracted him. Seriously?"

Kris laughs, because one, air quotes, and two, okay -

He has an intense personal relationship with his instruments – whether it's the guitar or the piano or even the mic. If it looks weird on stage, that's just too bad. It's how he sings.

"It's not like I'm flopping around like a dying fish."

From the doorway, Andrew gives Kris possibly the most exaggerated once-over he's ever received. "No, although that would be performance art."

"Only if you were naked," Ryland says, laughing when Kris wrinkles his nose at the mere idea. "Or maybe covered in blue body paint. Your call."

Kris giggles helplessly, letting Cale's body do most of the work of keeping him upright.

It never stops surprising him, how easy this is.

  


Kris likes:

\- his wife (because she puts up with his brand of crazy),  
\- twizzlers (because he can't help the oral fixation)  
\- his Idol family (because no one else _knows_ what that was like)  
\- awkward silences (because he secretly finds them hilarious), and  
\- his band.

(Because they get him.)

  



End file.
